


We're Burning One Hell of a Something

by lunaterium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of torture, F/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaterium/pseuds/lunaterium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentyn Martell is the public face of the mob called the Khalassar, and the only one who knows all of it's higher officials including its' head- the Dragon.  His wife, Daenerys, is a typical socialite whose hobbies include chairing foundations and having tea.  </p><p>Or that's what everyone thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Burning One Hell of a Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



> This is a gift for Niamh, who's stories have always entertained and inspired me. I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from "Burn" by Ellie Goulding

Quent adjusted his tie as he leaned in the doorway of their bedroom. Dany was at her vanity, putting on the finishing touches on her makeup. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she paused in applying her lipstick- a pale pink, to match the cream dress she's wearing- and smiled at him. After being married for so long, he knew that it was a cue for him to walk the length of the room, lean over and press a dry kiss on her cheek. She closed her eyes and her smile turned soft, her hand caressing the side of his face in a backwards embrace. 

"How was business today," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

"It was fine; the identities of the Dragon and others are still kept secret. Two Lions had to be put down, so we may be expecting retribution."

"Good; it was getting too quiet," she said. Her hand left his face and he straightened, but put his hand on her shoulder. 

"Darling, we'll be late if we don't hurry. You know how Sansa gets when the speeches aren't given on time."

"And I am the keynote, I know." It was an old conversation, a variation of it brought up every time Daenerys pursued another charity foundation. "Let me just grab my clutch." She grabbed her lipstick tube and put it in her silver clutch, right next to the small silver pistol Quent had gotten for their fifth anniversary. 

\--

The gala was routine by now, the same faces of the wealthy populace, there to show how they cared about the cause of the night, or more likely, pretended to care. When they had gotten there, the chairwoman- Sansa Stark- had whirled his wife away to go over last minute things. She had thrown apologetic glances over her shoulder, but he smiled and waved at her. 

He resisted the urge to stuff his hands in his pockets as he shifted from one foot to the other. There were already many people there, but as such, much of them were already in conversations and huddled in little groups. One of the best parts, Quent had realized long ago, of these galas were the open bars. 

He spotted it on the left side of the room, and headed towards it. He slowed down when he saw Jaime Lannister there as well, but he continued onwards. Even the Lions were not stupid enough to start something in public.

"Whiskey on the rocks please," he ordered.

"Quentyn Martell, face of the Khalassar," Jaime said good-naturedly, his mouth twisted in a smirk.

"Jaime," he acknowledged, turning to mirror the other man's posture; elbow on the countertop and his legs crossed at the ankle.

"Heard you took out two of dear old Da's pets, on your Dragon's orders."

He hmm'ed, neither willing to confirm or deny. He spotted a flash of silver in the corner of his eye, saw his wife tilt her head back and laugh at something Sansa had said. Jaime's eyes tracked his and his smirk widened.

"Does your do-gooder wife know you're involved with one of the worst groups in town?" Quentyn didn't answer, and so Jaime pressed on. "Would be a shame if she ever did." 

The drink came then, and Quentyn sipped it slowly. He took his time, relishing the taste of the whiskey on his tongue, the feel of it down his throat. His eyes never left Jaime.

Once he was finished, he placed the tumbler on the bar. "Never," he said slowly. "threaten my wife again." 

And with that, he left the area and towards his wife. Daenerys yelped slightly when he wrapped an arm around her from behind. He kissed her temple, and whispered, "It's done." 

She looked up at him and smiled widely before turning her attention to his sister Arianne and her newest beau of the week. 

—

They took him on his lunch break as he was walking back from the food truck on the corner of Seventh Street. A quick push into the back of a car and a blanket were thrown over his head before something sweet filled his nostrils and blackness was all he knew. 

When he came to, he was stripped down to his boxers and seated at a table in a brightly lit room, Jaime Lannister across from him. His hands were uncuffed, although two men stood next to him. The Lannisters knew better than to put metal on Quentyn (the last time they had had Quentyn in their custody, he had used his broken cuffs to cut a bloody message on Lancel Lannister’s chest.) 

“Did you have to undress me?” He complained.

“Well we never know with you.” Jaime smiled.

“Please tell me that you at least hung up the suit; it was a present."

“You never answered my question,” the blonde haired man changed the subject abruptly. “The one about your wife,” Jaime added as Quentyn made no movement to show that he knew what he was talking about.

“Leave my wife out of this.” He said congenially. “Or I will rip the head off of your shoulders with my bare hands.” He smiled as he felt the men beside him tense. 

“Fine,” Jaime said. “but first, tell me who you work for.”

“You know who I work for- Rhoynar Technologies; your men took me when I was on my lunch."

Jaime nodded, and one man slammed Quentyn’s face into the table. Red spotted his vision as he felt his nose crack. 

"Fuck!"

“Do not play stupid with me, Mr. Martell,” Jaime said softly. “You know what I mean. Who is the Stranger?” Quentyn smiled, baring his teeth. He could feel the blood from his nose coat his upper lip.

“The Crone? Cat? Sand Snakes? Red Viper?” Jaime pressed. “The Dragon?”

“I would have thought by now that your family would have learned that I do not respond well to questions.” Quent said, wiping away the blood on his arm.

“If you’re talking about Lancel, i’m sure you’d be relieved to know the boy is still alive.” Jaime frowned. “I want to assure you that I am a different type of man. We are not leaving this room until you tell me what you know. And if I am not out of this room in the next half an hour-“ Here the Lannister heir lowered his voice, probably to show how serious he was about to get, Quent thought. “- then your pretty little wife’s brain is going to be spread all over her little friend Margaery Tyrell’s love seat.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He made to stand up, but the two men put their hands on his shoulders, forcing him to stay down.

“Would you like to try me? My men say that she’s in a blue pantsuit and the Martell pearls. There is most likely a red dot on her pretty blonde hair right now.”

Quentyn stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re serious. You have a sniper on my wife right now.”

Jaime’s smile widened, sensing that he had won. “Her bodyguards are incapacitated right now; I give the word and you’re a widower.”

Quentyn couldn't help but laugh, a bellyaching laugh that made him slap at his knee in mirth. He wiped away tears. “Please forgive m-me, but I just cannot-“ he broke off, his laughter ringing out. 

“Shut him up,” Jaime ordered.

Someone pulled his hair back before slamming his face again and again into the table. Still, Quentyn could not help but laugh. He laughed and laughed even as the two men pushed him to the floor to kick at him. They only aimed for places that wouldn't be seen; after all, Quentyn Martell was a public figure, the consort to the Queen of Charities. It could have been minutes or hours before they stopped, he couldn't tell. Quentyn winced as they hauled him up and onto the seat. He chuckled once more, though it hurt his body to do so. It was worth it to see the enraged look on Jaime's face. 

Then the wall exploded.

—

Daenerys smiled as she sipped her tea in the solar of Margaery Tyrell’s apartment. “I’m guessing we don’t need to go over any more details do we, Sansa?” The redheaded woman flushed, no doubt remembering her panicked mode the week before. Arya smirked in response; she like Dany, had no patience for Sansa’s last minute worrying.

“No, I suppose not; we’ve got everything down by now. You and Quentyn will be there at half past five yes?” Sansa asked.

“Of course."

“Arya dear,” Margaery said quietly. The brown haired girl looked up from where she was looking at Sansa's phone. “There is a pest outside of my window. Can you please go and swat it." 

The brown haired girl nodded and smiled. She picked up the tray of scones and walked into the kitchen, and presumably out of the window there. 

“I didn’t realize that flies were in season right now,” Daenerys said innocently. “It is winter after all.” 

Sansa answered for her sister-in-law. “Well, you know what happens when the trash piles up; attracts all sorts of things,” she offered as an explanation. As if the trash wasn’t picked up biweekly in the neighborhood.

“Of course,” the blonde woman demurred. She glanced down at the notification that came up on her phone. “Well, anyways. It was lovely of you to have me over for tea. However, I have to go and run to the dry cleaners for my dress. Here are the files, Marg, that Quent wanted me to drop off.” She grabbed the files from her oversized bag and placed it on the table.

Margaery and Sansa exchanged a glance, and Dany burned at the unsaid words. 

_Poor thing,_ the look said, _that she doesn’t know what these files contain, that her husband uses her as a front for his less savory doings._ As if it wasn’t her idea to make a treaty with the Thorns. 

Margaery smiled. “Thank you Dany; let Quent know that I’ll make sure to make good use of it.” 

Dany smiled back, the edge of it razor sharp. “Of course. Ta,” she said, leaving the Rose and the Sweetling behind her. She needed to pick up her husband.

—

Daenerys walked into the room once the dust had settled, her pantsuit only creased by the belt of knives she had around her hips. She had her pink purse on the crook of her elbow and her favorite gun in the other hand. His mother’s pearls adorned her neck. Before anyone could do anything, she shot both men that flanked him in the head. Their bodies dropped quickly.

“Sorry that I’m late dear,” she addressed Quentyn. She frowned at his state of undress. “I hope your suit is fine. We have that dinner tonight with the Tyrells for the Foundation for Endangered Animals.” 

Quentyn smiled. “I’m not sure about the state of my suit,” he said breezily. “He took it from me while I was unconscious.”

Dany’s eyes flew to Jaime. “Don’t even think about moving, Lannister. I can pull this trigger faster than you can grab the gun from your holster.” 

Jaime stayed frozen, the whites of his eyes showing around his pupil. His gaze was on the belt of knives around her hips. She noticed and smirked. 

“You’re the Dragon,” he breathed. His hands gripped the table tightly. There was one thing known about the Dragon; they carried a set of knives on their hips that they used to mutilate their victims, creating a pattern like overly large teeth marks. They were (unoriginally, in Quentyn and Dany’s opinions) named thusly, the Dragon’s Teeth.

“And you’re a dead man walking,” she said, and fired.

Later, after Quentyn was able to find his suit (the Lannisters had had the decency to hang it up in a hallway closet), and Dany was finished with Jaime, they strolled out hand in hand. 

“I feel we’ll be a little late to the benefit,” he said, looking at his phone.

“Well, such circumstances arise,” she said airily as she glanced at him.

“Did you really have to leave him alive,” he complained. “I mean, sure, taking his hand was punishment, but was it enough? And besides, the Lannisters will know who you are now.”

She didn’t answer, choosing instead to slide into the town car that was waiting for them. He followed her, as he always had since he saw her in the Pentoshi cafe all those years ago. 

“You know what the Lannisters and their horde of Lions did to my brother and your aunt,” she commented as she opened up a compact to check her appearance. There was nary a blood spot on her pinstriped blue pantsuit. “This is just the beginning.” Satisfied, she snapped the compact shut. Dany’s eyes burned as she turned to look at him. “I am done hiding. We have allies to help. Let the Lannisters know that the Dragon comes for them, and that when I do, they will _burn._ "


End file.
